The Tragic Sinking of the Olympic
by DreamerGirlWinter
Summary: The vampire Winter experiences love and tragedy on board the RMS Olympic. A supernatural romance story.
1. Chapter 1: Rebirth

**A/N: This is my first fanfic, hope you all like it, please review so I can try and improve!**

**Chapter 1 : Rebirth**

My name is Winter Severina Starling. I've been around for a while, not that anyone would notice. To everyone else I'm just a normal person; gothic, but still a living, breathing human. But I've seen things that no one alive today has scene.

I was born 150 years ago.

When I was 18 I was brutally attacked and to all the world I was dead, my body drained of every last drop of crimson blood. My heart stopped beating and my skin became like ice. But I wasn't dead. The man who attacked me was a vampire and he filled me with his venom, our blood mingled in my icy veins. I had been returning from my work in the Crown bar in the city when I decided I wanted to walk by the sea. Back then I loved the ocean, the sense of freedom, of release that it gave me made my mundane life as a lowly waitress bearable. Every day I heard the jaunty chatter of those that I served; and I envied them. They could free themselves from their post whenever they felt like it, I however remained trapped. I was admiring the ocean, the cries of seagulls and the echo of ship horns called out to me, promising me freedom.

Then he came.

I was leaning against the railings when he called out to me. I turned and saw a silhouetted figure beckoning to me. I froze with fear when I saw red eyes flickering from underneath his wide brimmed hat. I opened my mouth to scream but I couldn't even make a sound. Then he leapt. He roughly pushed me against the railings, snapping my head back to expose my neck. I cried out in pain. He gasped with what sounded like satisfaction and buried his teeth into the side of my throat. Warm, red blood flowed down my neck and cascaded onto the ground. I began to feel weaker. I felt myself falling back against the railings. I felt so cold as the figure drained the last drops of life from me. He lowered my shivering form to the ground.

"Thank you" he whispered. He brushed my dark hair from my fading eyes. "You are beautiful."

Then I lost consciousness.

When I awoke I was cold all over. The sky was reddened as the sun began to rise. I was lying in a circle of darkened, dried blood. My blood. My hair clung to my face and my clothes were soaked.

I sat up, brushing my hair aside.

"Where am I?" I murmured. Then I realised. The events of the night returned to me in flashes, each more horrific and painful than the last. I began to weep bitter tears of anguish. I looked at my white hands, knowing that not one drop of blood flowed through my veins. I was a vampire, and nothing would ever be the same again.

I hid away from my family and loved ones, I couldn't bear to let them see me, not as the cold, heartless monster I'd become. I was never to see them again. I changed my name to Winter to reflect the coldness that forever gnawed away at my broken heart.

Today I still live in Belfast, to be near the graves of my family. Every 31st November, the day that I was forced from my mortal existence to live in isolation; I leave a frost bitten rose on their cold tomb and pray that they'll forgive the anguish I caused them by leaving. It was the year 2012 and I had entered my 150th year of my harrowing existence. It had been 100 years since the second event that changed the course of my life…

It causes me too much sorrow to think about it. Here I stood on the steps of the Olympic building in the Belfast docks, watching the relentless waves crash below. I stared, remembering that night, so many years ago. I watched the visitors streaming through the glass doors, laughing and pointing, smiling together. They think it's fascinating. My icy blue eyes filled with tears as cold as the vast ocean. Sure, they could enjoy it; they could never conetemplate the terrors I witnessed that night. They were not haunted at night by the screams of all the peeps in the waters.

On the night of April 14th 1912, I watched as the Olympic fell to her icy grave.


	2. Chapter 2: Remembering

**Chapter 2: Remembering **

I spat out my cigarette and crunched it under my foot, pulling my black trench coat tighter around me as the Atlantic wind tossed my long black hair like a veil over my face. I decided to go back inside because the icy wind was icing me. I clenched my eyes shut as I passed a memorial plaque, the emotion that I felt made me want to crawl back to my apartment and cut my wrists. It helps me feel in control of my own destiny even though I know it won't kill me.

When I went in I saw a large gathering around a table opposite the reception desk. I could hear every word of every conversation of the echoing, chattering masses. Glancing around I saw a poster announcing the event as the launch of some guy Brock Lovett's new book. I stood, alone and isolated at the back as the din of the humans faded.

"Hi everyone, my name is Bork Lovett" specked the man "I am here to launch my new book; _The Beautiful Mystery of the Olympic_." A loud cheer rang up. I clenched my fists and withdrew into my long coat. A single tear slid down my face. The very name of that ship pierced me to my fragile bones.

"This book is made up of the research and images I collected from the wreck of the Olympic in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean over the past 3 years, during which I did research at the site of the wreck."

The audience murmured in awe.

I was shaking uncontrollably. It was like watching a car crash. I was distraught and yet I couldn't look away as Brorck wheeled a projector out.

"The story of the Olympic has fascinated me since I started studying ship wrecks" began Brock "In fact I am not only interested in the stinking of the ship but also in the fate of the peeps on board it."

I didn't need to research it. I knew what happened that night; I saw it with my own eyes!

"Since we're all here, why don't we all look at these pictures that I took at the site of the wreckage of the Olympic?" Brock smiled. His suggestion was met with firm murmurs of agreement from his audience.

I was frozen in place, I tried to look away but I couldn't. Shivers ran up my spine as the projector flickered on…

On the screen before me was the ravaged skeleton of the Olympic, torn into two pieces and scattered across the ocean floor like the splinters of a crab, dashed on the rocks. The awe inspired gasps of the people reverberated around the room, deafening me. I was trapped. Each picture in the slideshow was worse than the last, the shattered railings, the shredded steel… I could once more hear the frightened screams rising from the depths of the Atlantic. The transition between each picture was like a drum thundering in my skull. There was no way out. The beating got louder and louder and-

I fell to my knees, screaming and clutching my ears.

When I looked up again, not one person had turned around or noticed me. I shivered and stood up. The slideshow had finished. I just wanted to leave.

"Wasn't that fascinating?" smiled Brock.

There were murmurs of agreement and I turned to leave.

"But now, this is the part that really interests me; the real beautiful mystery of the Olympic."

Brock adjusted the projector and the people stood in anticipation. I tilted my head to look out of curiosity.

I could never have anticipated..

A painting of a girl with long black hair, piercing blue eyes and delicate white skin…

"Isn't she beautiful?" Brock grinned "And if you'll look at the date on the picture, it was drawn the night the Olympic sank. That means that this girl saw everything that happened that night!"

There was a buzz of excitement from the audience. I began to feel faint. I couldn't believe it.

"If anyone has any information about this girl that they'd be willing to share with me" began Brock "You can reach me at the following phone number; after all, she really is the _Beautiful mystery of the Olympic_!"

I could hear my heart thudding in my chest. I felt suffocated by the shock and my emotions. The world began to tilt back and forth…

Tears blinding me, I ran back to my apartment as fast as I could.


	3. Chapter 3: Resolution

**A/N Thanks to all you peeps for the advice. My spellchecker didn't register Bork as a spelling mistake and I didn't notice it when I was proof reading. I'm sorry : ( . I know the Titanic and the Olympic aren't the same boat but I was just exercising my creative license. The Olympic is probably better anyway.**

**Chapter 3: Resolution**

I slammed the door shut and threw myself onto the sofa, sobbing uncontrollably.

I couldn't believe they'd found it. Even after all these years. They'd found _that _painting.And now Borck Lovett had gone and published a book about it! Emotions that had lain dormant for a hundred years burst free from their bindings and there was nothing I could do to stop them. Also, if someone recognized me as the girl in the picture my secret could be unravelled and I dared not to think of the consequences…

I rolled an opium joint and started to smoke it to calm my nerves. The smoke curled upwards towards the ceiling as the leaves began to burn. Seeing that painting had brought back so many feelings… and memories. I could remember how I felt when I first boarded the RMS Olympic, how stunned I was by its size and beauty. It was as though a palace had been set on the ocean and given funnels. I remembered how the Olympic had brought my friends and I together… only to tear us apart. I remembered also, how for the first and only time; I had been in love.

I discarded the burnt out joint. I wanted to see the painting again, with its every brushstroke laden with memories of passion and sorrow. How much had changed since then. Physically I was nearly the same as I had been when I sailed on the Olympic, but emotionally I had been harrowed right to the bone, left as an empty shell condemned, wandering the earth and cursed by the events of so long ago. Every night I heard the tormented cries of the peoples drowning and wherever I went the sharp chills of the Atlantic followed. I could almost see the shattered mess of the Olympic where it lay on the sanded floor of the ocean, the wreckage as twisted and ravaged as my heart and soul.

Would seeing the painting again bring me sorrow or salvation? Since the stinking of the Olympic, I had been overwhelmed by the tragedy. Could this finally be the time to let it go? In the 100 years since the disaster I had not spoken to another living soul and I had lived my life as a solitary figure, kept company only by bitterness and sorrow.

Maybe by speaking to Brock about the tragedy, by letting him identify me as the girl in the painting, I could release myself from the bonds of misery that had entrapped me for all these years. Or else it could simply result in my imprisonment as a scientific study…

I had to take the chance.

I'd never needed to phone anyone before and so my apartment needless to say was lacking such equipment. All I owned was my clothes, a 3 piece furniture set and a fridge in which I kept my supply of blood. I arrived at the phone box outside the Belfast city hall and dialled the number Brok had given. My icy breath steamed the glass as I waited for the phone to be answered. The dialling tone was like the sound of a beating heart, mirroring my own feelings.

"Hello, this is Brock Lovett. Have you any information regarding the sinking of the Olympic?"

"My name is Winter Severina Starling" I stammered "and I..."

"What? Take your time." He said kindly.

"You showed a painting during your talk today…" I sobbed. I could no longer hold back my despair.

"Yes I did! Have you any information about that girl?" asked Brock enthusiastically.

I choked back my emotion.

"Yes" I spluttered " The girl in the painting is… me."


End file.
